


Treat it Tenderly

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Aliens Made Them Do It, Anal, Blow Jobs, First Time, Forced to break vow of chastity, Frottage, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Healing Sex (literal healing), M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Rimming, Touch-Starved, character accidentally consenting to more than they can handle but unwilling to stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: “You’re gonna have to order me to do it, Sheppard.”“I… can’t.” John shook his head, firm and unyielding.“You have to; that’s the only out we’ve got.” Ronon's voice rose, nearly cracking. Desperation sounded so strange coming from him.He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t bring himself to give that order.Even if it meant his life…Another planet, another bunch of natives and their rituals, and John and Ronon get caught in the middle.





	Treat it Tenderly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/gifts).



> PhoenixFalls - I'm so thrilled I got to write this for you. I loved your prompt when I first saw, as it's a pairing I've never written and really wanted to try, and getting to snap it up was kismet! I really hope you like what I've done for you.

“You’re gonna have to order me to do it, Sheppard.”

“I… can’t.” John shook his head, firm and unyielding.

“You _have_ to; that’s the only out we’ve got.” Ronon's voice rose, nearly cracking. Desperation sounded so strange coming from him.

He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t bring himself to give that order.

Even if it meant his life…

Swearing, John scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, ruffling it from nape to brow. Already he could feel a strange heat thrumming beneath his skin. “Jesus, Ronon. I can’t… I just… can’t.”

Letting his hands fall back into the pool, John slouched lower and leaned his head back on the cool tiles with a groan. An hour ago, he thought glumly, things hadn’t seemed nearly so complex.

 

 _Earlier_ …

 

They gated to M37-466 as a three-man team – sans McKay as he was ‘too damn busy with repairing these desalinization tanks to go on another meet-and-greet with low-tech, no-coffee-producing natives’ – and stepped through the gate onto another earth-like planet in the middle of a pretty perfect afternoon. The sun was shining, the temperature verging on warm enough that John hadn’t regretted only the t-shirt beneath his tac-vest, and the landscape was upper Midwest USA as far as the eye could see.

The natives that greeted them once they’d reached the first settlement, some two miles from the gate, were friendly and curious, eagerly inviting them to share words with their Elder Council.

Things started to feel a bit hinky when the elders – two older, bearded and balding men and one grey-haired woman with tattoos under each eye – looked to Ronon and the matriarch had asked, “You are the leader of your people?”

Ronon immediately deferred to John. “Nah, this is Colonel Sheppard. He’s our leader.”

He took note at the way the three of them, not to mention many of the gathered crowd, exchanged looks of puzzlement and confusion.

“It is your way that the strongest among you is not who leads?”

John wanted to comment on the fact that there were a lot of bigger, stronger looking people in the crowd. Coming from a wizened, wrinkled old man the comment seemed a bit hypocritical.

Ronon bristled slightly at that. “Sheppard _is_ strong,” he protested.

Teyla stepped in, adding a more measured, “We chose our leaders based on a number of abilities. Strength is one consideration, but so are intelligence and bravery and compassion.”

“Yeah,” Ronon agreed. “Sheppard is all those things.”

And that unwavering praise made John feel kind of funny.

One of the bald, bearded elders gave a nod of acceptance. “Very well then. If that is your way.” And that seemed to be the end of it.

There was a bit more chatter after that. Introductions, where he learned the Elders were called Elder Brone, Elder Vernath and – weirdly – Madam Eppie. Conversation then turned to trade and the kind of subjects that he let Teyla mostly field when he sensed that her skills at diplomacy were a better tool than his own schmoozy charm, or Ronon’s intimidating gruffness.

Eventually, the Elders seemed pleased with the discussion and John realized he’d been a bit… distracted – there were some kind of four-legged vertebrates visible in the distance and he couldn’t figure out if they looked more like antelope or horses – because when one of them said, “Very well, then. Our men will escort you, Colonel Sheppard and Madam Emmagen,” he realized he had no idea where they were going.

Teyla didn’t look too concerned though, so when Ronon asked, “That okay with you, Sheppard?” he used Teyla’s small smile of reassurance as a guide, clapped Ronon roughly on the arm and said, “Yeah, you got this, Chewie.”

After Ronon was led away by the Elders, John and Teyla were taken to a small building and bade to wait inside. Though there were partially-opened windows on three sides letting in a breeze, a few large cushions strew about and a low bench beside a narrow table, John knew confinement when he saw it. Especially when their guides left a pair of ‘watchers’ – read: guards – posted outside the door. 

“John, you need to relax,” Teyla told him from where she sat cross-legged on a plum-colored cushion while he began to pace. “Ronon will be fine. They assured us no harm would come to him.”

“I know,” he replied, to reassure himself more than her. “It’s just, you know. They usually want the leader. I mean for these kinds of things.”

“Well, Madam Eppie did say that it was more appropriate for a subordinate to complete the trials.”

“Right,” John agreed, even if he wasn’t completely sure what the ‘trials’ were.

Before he could figure out a way to ask about them without seeming like he didn’t know anything, the door opened and Elder Brone (or was it Vernath? They were both bald and beardy… it was hard not to mix them up) entered their ‘cell’. He carried a tray laden with fruits, nuts and the local equivalent of beef jerky as well as a pitcher of some clear, gold-tinted liquid (John assumed tea; ninety percent of the time it was tea).

“I have a few questions, if you’re amenable,” he said and then went on to explain that they wanted to understand Ronon’s values, to determine if he was worthy to complete their trials. He quizzed them both on facts about Ronon’s history, about Sateda, and about specific customs and codes of honor he might adhere to.

“His hair is important to him,” John offered immediately, worried they might want to do something drastic, like ask him to cut it. “He’s sworn not to cut it until the wraith are defeated.”

To his surprise, Teyla then chimed in, “He maintains a vow of celibacy as well, until the enemy that slaughtered his people are no longer a threat to anyone on the known worlds.”

Elder Brone nodded, looking keen, “That is good to know. Very good.” He asked a few more questions, seemed quite pleased with the answers and then left them to their refreshments.

After Teyla sniffed the beverage and declared it to be winterbite tea – a Pegasus equivalent to spearmint – she poured them both glasses. John took his, but simply rolled the mug between his palms and didn’t drink.

“I, uh…hadn’t known that about Ronon,” he finally admitted into the expectant silence. “The uh, vow of chastity thing. I thought he was just… you know.” He flipped a hand in a vague circle. “Picky, I guess?”

Teyla’s raised eyebrow spoke volumes and accusations all at once.

“What?” he shot back, feeling vaguely guilty. Ronon had been with them for years; so long in fact, that John couldn’t imagine Atlantis without him. He was more than family; he was _team_.  John was pretty sure they’d even talked about relationships a few times over the years… okay, maybe once or twice. Hell, the guy had dated Amelia Banks for a few months after they’d brought Atlantis back to Pegasus from Earth, until she’d transfer to the Apollo.

Luckily, Teyla knew him well enough that she just sighed and let out a soft, if mocking, little laugh. “I expect he did not tell you because he respects your opinion above all, John. He’s spent enough time among the marines to know the casual view your people take of sex.”

“Hey–” John began to protest.

Teyla cut him off before he could continue. “He does not think you are the same as your men, John. In fact, I expect your own…” there she paused a moment. When she continued, it was somewhat delicately. “Shall we say, ‘lack of companionship’, these last years, has been an inspiration to him.”

John’s cheeks went neon. “Uh, wait just a minute, Teyla,” he started to argue, but another Teyla brow-lift (this one all-knowing) had him clamming up just as quickly.

“Yes, John, I’m aware of the reasons behind that. Rodney explained it quite a long time ago.”

“What?” John spluttered. “What the hell did McKay have to say about it?”

She frowned at him. “He explained that your particular country’s military had rules in place prohibiting same-sex relations amongst its’ personnel. And that as the military commander you couldn’t be seen disobeying those rules. Not,” she added approvingly, “that you ever disciplined anyone for breaking them.”

He acknowledged that she was mostly correct with a wry shrug. “Sure, that’s a lot of it.” He certainly wasn’t going to go into all the other issues with fraternization, or of authority and subordinates and a dozen other things, not to mention that he didn’t exactly acknowledge his own self-identification (without a lot of liquor).

“Although why you’ve maintained that stance since your military redacted their policy, I’m unclear.” Her words said one thing, but her expression (once again led by an elegantly angled brow) said a lot of other things.

John coughed and redirected. “We were talking about Ronon.”

Luckily, Teyla let him of the hook and acknowledged that with a serene nod. “We were indeed.” She took a sip of her tea and indicated John should drink his.

Because it would prevent him having to talk, John did so. The beverage reminded him of a mint-julep, sans the bourbon. He wished it were the real thing.

“So,” he finally said when Teyla’s expectant silence went on long enough that John finished almost the entire mug. “Not since he was a runner?”

Teyla shook her head. “No. It is not for lack of options, mind you. It is wholly his choice.”

“Well yeah, I figured that. I mean, look at the guy. He’s Ronon.” He ignored Teyla’s smirk. “I guess I just thought that he and Amelia…” he let that trail off.

“Not in what he would consider the way of Satedan warriors.”

John knew he’d probably regret it, but he had to ask. “Uh, what’s the way of Satedan warriors?”

The fond amusement on her face gave John zero peace of mind. “I think that’s for Ronon to explain to you, should he wish it.”

“Yeah, I figured you were gonna say that,” John grumbled.

Silence fell, and while Teyla helped herself to more of the minty tea and some of the fruit, John did his best to sit at the low bench and not pace while they waited for Ronon to be returned.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait too long.

The next time the door opened, it was Ronon pushing through.

“Hey,” he grunted.

“Ronon!” John surged to his feet.

Teyla was beside him immediately. “Are you all right?”

Despite the way he casually leaned against the doorframe, Ronon looked anything but relaxed. In fact, he looked –

“You look like shit.”

It came out of John’s mouth before he knew what he was saying.

“’m fine,” Ronon said, waving away their concern.

John found it difficult to dismiss as easy as that; Ronon looked like he’d come out the loser in a free-for-all-brawl with a few dozen wraith. There was blood – though John’s quick, scanning assessment didn’t spot any open wounds – splashed over his face and shoulders and matting down his hair. Mud – at least john hoped it was mud – caked halfway up his legs and the rest of him was covered in a spattered and smeared combination of both.

“Ronon, you don’t look fine,” Teyla offered. Which was a nicer way of saying he looked like shit.

“Looks worse than it is.”

John took a step closer, lifting a hand that hovered in the air somewhere between them, afraid to touch. “Any of that yours, buddy?”

Ronon shook his head. “Nah. The blood was ceremonial.” He reached up to scratch at his head. “Itches like crazy though.”

From behind him, out of site just outside the cabin, a voice chimed in, “We shall aid you in that.”

Ronon turned and then stepped out of the way, allowing the Elders into the room.

“Uh, you said he’d be fine,” John’s hovering hand shifted to a wagging finger that pointed an accusation at the three of them.

“And he is returned to you, unharmed, if a bit mussed,” Madam Eppie said, her smile simpering. “Ronon purported himself quite well.”

“Glad to hear that, but can the big guy get a shower or something?”

Madam Eppie’s lips thinned as she stared at John a long moment. “As I said, we shall aid in that. In fact, we have just come to escort Ronon to the baths.”

John felt his shoulders come down as he relaxed a fraction. “Oh, well that’s good.”

She turned to Ronon then, “As we discussed in the chamber, please choose.”

“Choose?” John asked before Ronon could reply. “Choose what?”

Elder Vernath replied, “Who shall accompany him to the baths. As Ronon was chosen to represent your people, the choice of his companion is his.”

“We can’t all go?” John asked, circling a hand in the air to indicate the three of them.

“It is part of the trials, that a choice must be made.” Elder Brone explained.

“I’ll take Sheppard,” Ronon said.

John wasn’t sure why, but Ronon couldn’t quite look him in the eye when he said it. His answer seemed to please the Elders though.

“Very well,” Madam Eppie said, wrapping her fingers around Ronon's wrist. “Come along. You as well Colonel Sheppard.”

Though he stepped into place behind both Elders, John turned to Teyla. “You gonna be okay?”

She nodded serenely. “I will be well, John. You and Ronon enjoy the baths.” Her smile told John that she was sincere, but that she would also be on alert, if anything seemed to go wrong.

Reassured, he followed along.

The baths were housed in a large stone structure and reminded John of old Roman style bathhouses.  The Elders stood with them in a wide antechamber, but beyond an arched doorway, John could see into the baths themselves. Windows of frosted, greenish glass were set high in the walls, letting in a significant, if diffuse light. Inset into a mosaic tiled floor, there was one massive tub of steaming, roiling water and two smaller, adjacent tubs that he suspected held cold water, for rinsing after. Along the far end of the room, there were some padded benches, shelves stacked with drying cloths and other sundry that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a high-end spa.

A woman wearing a towel like a turban approached them, a tray with goblets that dripped condensation in the steamy heat held in front of her. “Chilled wine?”

John was going to pass, but Ronon reached out and took one of the goblets. He downed the glass in a few quick swallows.

Figuring it was safe to follow-suit, John lifted one off the tray. It felt cool in his hand and when he brought it close and sniffed it, he got a hint of cherry. “Why not,” he said, lifting the glass in a quick toast.

It tasted of cherries too – or the Pegasus equivalent – and vaguely alcoholic and like some kind of exotic spices as well. “Hmm, pretty good.” He imagined that a couple more pitchers of that might be nice while they were soaking in the steaming water.

When John let the cup lower, he saw that the Elders were all smiling at him. He was starting to suspect it wasn’t just because he praised the local vintage.

“You may avail yourself as long as needed,” Madam Eppie said, gesturing for them to enter the bathchamber. “You will not be disturbed.”

John frowned. That was certainly a peculiar way to phrase things.

“Uh, okay. Thanks?” He looked over at Ronon, to gauge his reaction and found that he was still looking pointedly away.

Suddenly, John got a sinking suspicion that he’d missed something; something big.

“What’s going on?”

“It is the final part of the trial, Commander Sheppard,” Elder Brone said.

“Yes,” Elder Vernath went on. “As Ronon is under your command, he must prove his loyalty to you. To do this, he must make a sacrifice–”

“Sacrifice?” John interrupted. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“He means, Colonel Sheppard,” Madam Eppie interjected, “that Ronon must do something that comes at great cost to him, to show his loyalty to his commander. Ronon knows of this.”

John turned to Ronon then. “Chewie? You know what’s going on here?”

Though Ronon nodded, he couldn’t meet John’s gaze. “Yeah. I’ll explain it, Sheppard.”

“Okay…” John let the word carry. He was still damn confused.

Madam Eppie clapped her hands together. “Very good, it is done then. We will leave you alone.” She patted Ronon’s arm again. “Remember, the shadow lengthens.”

Whatever that meant, Ronon nodded.

“We wish you well,” Elder Brone stated, and then all three swept out of the room, the silent woman with the turban-towel following after. The door closed behind them with a loud, definitive clang.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Ronon started tugging at the clasps of his tack vest. “C’mon, Sheppard, let’s get in the water.”

He shot a hand out and grabbed Ronon’s fingers, stopping him. “Hey, buddy, you gotta let me know what’s going on here.”

“Yeah, I will. Just, gotta do it when we’re in the water. It’s part of the deal.”

John thought about it, and frowned and huffed but finally gave in. “Okay, fine. Fine.” He let his hand drop and then got to work on his own clothing and gear.

John got undressed first, and he stepped gingerly down into the water. It was hot, like a bath or hot tub, and it took his skin a few moments to adjust. He continued to submerge, walking deeper down the tiled steps until he reached the bottom. The water swirled around his waist and he ducked lower, letting it flow over his shoulders.

He had to admit, it felt good.

Paddling around for a few minutes, John wanted to keep his eyes averted when Ronon stepped into the tub, but the Team Leader in him made him want to check Ronon over, reassure himself that Ronon wasn’t just being Ronon about his physical condition. He circled when he heard the splashing.

Naked, Ronon was a damn sight to behold. John tried to keep his gaze purely clinical though and he gave Ronon a rapid, if thorough, once-over. To his relief, aside from the mud and the flaking brown blood, he didn’t see anything other than rippling muscles and miles of burnished skin.

Satisfied, John turned away and swam the few feet across the pool to the far side where there was a submerged shelf set at the perfect level for soaking. He settled on it and found that there were armrests protruding from the sides of the pool as well, which were equally perfect for relaxing.

Ronon, meanwhile, had apparently retrieved some of the bottles from the spa and was scrubbing his body down with a washcloth and something that foamed into pale pink suds. He dunked wholly under once he was done. When he came back up, he whipped his head back, his dreads flinging outward in an arc that sprayed water across the room.

“Hey!” John protested with a laugh.

“Sorry,” Ronon chuckled, though he certainly didn’t sound it. “Gotta get this shit outta my hair.” He started squeezing out a handful of dreads with the cloth. At that rate, it was gonna take him ages.

“Uh, want some help with that?” John offered, wondering if it was weird to make the suggestion.

But Ronon nodded and was quick to swim over. He handed John a glass-stoppered bottle that he’d picked up from the edge of the pool and then turned around so that his back was to John’s front, backed up between John's knees.

John was good with hair. He could do this. Still, after he poured a handful of viscous liquid from the bottle and set it aside on the ledge, he hesitated a few moments, just letting the cleanser or soap or whatever the stuff in the bottle was flow from cupped palm to cupped palm.

“Sheppard?”

Right. Instead of replying, John let the warmed gel dribble over the top of Ronon’s head. He hooked his fingers in the thick ropy strands and worked up a lather. It was different than shampooing his own hair, due to the texture and needing to work around the twined locks, but it didn’t take John long to get the hang of it. Ronon slouched lower in the water and tilted his head forward, letting John get at his nape and the ends of the long dreads.

“Good?” He asked when Ronon let out a low, reedy groan.

“Been a long time,” Ronon muttered, voice thick and almost unintelligible. “Last person to do this for me was Melena.”

At the mention of Ronon’s deceased love, John froze a moment. What did he say to something like that? “Hey, I’m honored, buddy.”

Clumsy as that was, Ronon still chuckled softly.

John continued scrubbing, occasionally scooping up handfuls of water and rinsing until the water that drained away looked clear. He went back for more of the soap twice, and for a while he just scraped his nails over Ronon’s scalp, while a continuous pleased sort of rumble seemed to echo through Ronon’s chest.

John didn’t want to accuse him of being a bit cat, but it sure as hell was a lot like purring.  

Eventually, though, John had to declare himself done. His hands had started to both prune and tingle a bit. “You should duck under and give that a good rinse,” he instructed.

It took Ronon a moment to respond, and when he did, his movements were slow, sluggish. He lurched a few feet away in the pool and then submerged for a ridiculously long time. Though John could see him through the water – his warped form moving around as he thrashed his head to get rid of the lingering soap – he was just starting to get concerned when Ronon reemerged. He treated John to another spraying shower as well.

Instead of sitting next to John, Ronon crossed over to the other side of the pool, sitting opposite. After he settled, despite his posture and the lax expression, John could sense that he was anything but relaxed.

“We gonna talk now, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Ronon replied roughly. “So, uh, that wine,” Ronon began, looking uncomfortable. Which was a weird look for him.

Shit. “Poisoned?” John asked.

“Sort of.”

“Okay. Sort of, how?”

Ronon slumped lower and let his head fall back against the tiles. “It’s like this, Sheppard. We’re both poisoned or more like drugged, I guess. Thing is, we can cure each other.”

John frowned, utterly confused. If Ronon knew they’d been drugged, why the hell was he so calm?

“So, we’re okay?”

“Nah,” Ronon shook his head. “Think it might actually kill us. Or you.”  

“Me?” John screeched, and then realized he was screeching and forced his voice lower. “Why just me? You drank that stuff too.”

“I’m drugged too, it’s just, I’m the cure.”

This was getting way too convoluted. “You’re the cure?”

Seemingly on a different tac, Ronon said. “You know about my vow, right? The one I took after the wraith destroyed Sateda?”

“Yeah,” John replied gruffly. “Err, which one? The hair one? Or the uh… other one.” He made a vague gesture with his hands that probably didn’t look like anything it was meant to represent.

“Other one,” Ronon confirmed. “Only way I can break it early is if I’m ordered to by my commander.”

“What?”

“The only way I can break my vow before the wraith are destroyed and the known worlds are safe is if I’m ordered to. So, I need you to order me to have sex with you.”

John flung his hands out, waving them a bit wildly. “Woah, woah, woah. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I need you to order me to fuck you.”

There was more flailing. A lot more. “Jesus Christ. Jesus… Ronon…”

“Startin’ to look a little like McKay there, Sheppard.”

While that struck home enough to make John pull his arms back to his sides, it didn’t stop him freaking out entirely. “Wait just a damn minute. Why me? I mean, why can’t I just order you to fu… have sex with someone else. Anyone else.”

“Uh, cuz if we don’t fuck, you’re probably gonna die.”

Shit. He was starting to put it all together. He’d been drugged. Ronon had been drugged. Meanwhile, Ronon had to prove his loyalty to John by forgoing his vow at John’s command.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this sooner?” he shouted. “Like, oh. I dunno. Before I drank the damn wine?”

Ronon let his head fall forward then and he fixed Sheppard with a look that said, ‘do you think I’m that stupid?' “I’d have told you if they hadn’t threatened that they were gonna kill you or Teyla or you both if I didn’t cooperate. That house you were in? Rigged with gas. I didn’t cooperate, they’d’ve gassed you both before I could’ve done anything about it.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Ronon agreed. “When they learned about my vow, it was perfect for their trial, for me to prove my fealty. Told me if I even hinted about it to you or Teyla, we were all dead. And honestly,” he said, eyes narrowing, “I guess I didn’t consider us having sex to be that big of a sacrifice.”

John didn’t have an answer to that, but he ruminated on it silently for a few minutes. When he spoke again, it was to ask a different question. “So, why did they let you choose? I mean, in the cabin, they asked if you wanted Teyla or me to go with you to the baths. I thought it had to be a superior?”

Ronon shrugged. “I consider Teyla my superior. You rank above us both, but, I dunno. Teyla’s older and got more authority in Atlantis.”

“But you chose me?”

That got a nod.

“Over Teyla.”

A scowl joined the nod. “Teyla’s in a relationship. I wasn’t gonna…”

“Force her,” John filled in for him, when he stumbled at the next word. “That’s what this is, you know.”

Ronon sighed, heavily. “I know. Sheppard, I _know_. But it’s _them_ doing it, to both of us, not _you_ doing it to me. So, I need you to give me the order, so we can do this, and I can cure you. And then we can get the hell out of here.”

Shit.

“Ronon, I…” He sighed. “Can’t you just, I dunno… presume I’ll say yes. I mean, does it have to be an order?”

“Sheppard.”

“I mean, you don’t have to keep any vow to prove anything to me you know. If you wanna break it, uh…now. With me. Uh, we can do that.”

“Not good enough.”

“Ronon,” John nearly pleaded.

“You’re gonna have to order me to do it, Sheppard.”

“I… can’t.” John shook his head, firm and unyielding.

“You _have_ to; that’s the only out we’ve got.” Ronon's voice rose, nearly cracking. Desperation sounded so strange coming from him.

He couldn’t do it, though. He couldn’t bring himself to give that order.

Even if it meant his life…

Swearing, John scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, ruffling it from nape to brow. Already he could feel a strange heat thrumming beneath his skin. “Jesus, Ronon. I can’t… I just… can’t.”

Letting his hands fall back into the pool, John slouched lower and leaned his head back on the cool tiles with a groan. An hour ago, he thought glumly, things hadn’t seemed nearly so complex.

“Sheppard, you know I’m not gonna let you die.”

In his chest, John’s heart felt like it wanted to burst through his ribs; still, he shook his head. “Ronon, you don’t _know_ for sure I’m gonna die. The Elders were probably lying. I… I feel fine.”

The sweat that started to trickle down his brow wasn’t entirely from the heat of the pool though, and his hands were shaking enough below the surface of the water that little wavelets ringed out in circles above them.

“Don’t be such a stubborn ass, Sheppard. Just give me the damn order.”

“Ronon, you don’t –”

“No, John,” Ronon shot back, distressed and frustrated. “I get it. I know why this sucks for you. Having to do something like this goes against who you are. But, I need you to order me. That’s the only way I can break the vow.”

The use of his first name wasn’t lost on John, neither was the pleading on Ronon’s normally stoic face. “Can’t I just… I dunno, ask you nicely?”

That got Ronon to smirk, at least, but he shook his head. “Has to be ordered by a superior. That’s the only way I can be released.”

John lifted his hands from the water again, scrubbing them both through his hair, slicking it back. “Fine,” he finally said, and it burst out of him on a growl. “Fine.” He let his arms drop, crossing them in front of his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to say it though.

“Sheppard,” Ronon grumbled.

“Fine,” John said again. “Okay, here goes.” He took a deep breath and then swallowed. Through gritted teeth, he finally forced himself to say it. “Ronon, I… order you to break your vow and fu… have sex with me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, John let his chin fall to his chest. He couldn’t look across the water at his friend. He stared at his hands beneath the surface, clenching them into fists over and over again to fight the strange tingling that felt like it was spreading through each finger.

Splashing alerted him that Ronon was on his way to John’s side, and after a few seconds listening to it and seeing the water churn, he felt a hand cup his shoulder. “Hey, Sheppard. Thanks.”

John looked up then, and Ronon looked… like Ronon. He was grinning softly and had his head tilted close. “I mean it,” Ronon said, giving John’s shoulder a little shake.

“Yeah, of course, buddy.” John managed a faint smile in return.

“So, we gonna do this, or what?”

And the smile fell away. “Ronon, c’mon, buddy. You can’t… or, I can’t… dammit,” he slapped a palm at the surface of the water. “This is wrong.”

“Why?” Ronon asked, like that was an easy question.

“Because,” John started, immediately flailing for reasons. “Because you’re my friend…” Which was stupid. What was a little life-saving sex between friends? “And I’m you’re boss, basically.” Although, was he? Really? Ronon, Teyla, hell, even Rodney; he looked at his team as equals, no matter what his rank on Atlantis said. “And, it’s not like you ever wanted to do any of that… stuff… with me before.”

Ronon grinned again, wolfish, and supplied the negation to that one. “Yeah, you’re wrong there, Sheppard.”

“What?” John blurted. “Really?”

The grin widened, showing teeth. “Oh yeah. If I hadn’t made my vow, I’d have fucked you that first week on Atlantis.”

“Holy shit.”

Mouth thinning slightly, Ronon cocked his head, inquisitive. “You never thought about fucking me?”

Thankful that his skin was already ruddy from the heat, John swallowed hard. “Uh…” Did it make him an asshole to admit that in his weaker moments he’d lusted after his friend? Or that sometimes the bodies in his fantasies when he was jerking off had Ronon’s tattoos and Ronon’s face.

Hell, just hearing Ronon say ‘fucking’ over and over was causing a physical reaction. Either that or the drugs in the wine had some stimulating properties.

Ronon could read it on his face, even if John couldn’t admit it. The wolf-grin was back. “Yeah, I thought so.” He reached up, slowly, and then cupped his big hand around John’s cheek and jaw, fingertips pushing into the hair of his nape. “How about kissing me?”

The question was apparently rhetorical, because before John could start to form an answer, Ronon was ducking down, catching his mouth in a heated kiss. John stilled, just a moment, as his brain caught up to his body and then he kissed back.

Ronon kissed just as John imagined he would, like he was fighting, fierce and with everything. His teeth caught at John’s lip and he sucked on John’s tongue and John was panting into his mouth and groaning helplessly within moments.

For a guy who’d been celibate for years, he could kiss like nobody's business. John stomach jumped at the thought of fucking him.

Ronon moved to straddle John on the bench, and John eagerly reeled him in, grappling at slick skin. When Ronon surged forward, John felt hard length of Ronon’s cock pressed into his belly.

“Jesus, buddy,” he gasped, dragging his mouth away for a moment. “Didn’t think I was that good of a kisser.”

“It’s the wine,” Ronon admitted, dragging his teeth along John’s jaw to bite at the skin below his ear. “Not that I needed it. Don’t think they realized I wouldn’t have any trouble getting hard for you.”

“Fuck,” John breathed, the word scraping his throat.

“That’s the idea,” Ronon agreed with a low rumble of laughter. “C’mon, Sheppard. You can enjoy this too, you know.”

John realized then that other than holding on to Ronon’s sides and panting into his damp hair, he wasn’t exactly an active participant.

Taking what he wanted still felt… wrong somehow, though. Even if Ronon wanted it too.

God, he wanted to take his P90 to the Elders and firebomb the whole goddamn village.

He had to try though, for Ronon’s sake if nothing else. So, he let his hands explore the firm muscles and lines of a body he’d admired for so long. “Christ, Ronon,” he muttered, digging his fingers into to the meat of Ronon’s ass. “You’re unreal.”

Ronon, meanwhile, sucked a bruise into John’s clavicle and worked fingers in between their bodies at the same time. The first touch to John’s cock had him hard and aching within moments.

“Fuuuccckkk,” the word hissed out in a long ululation.

He stroked John’s cock a few times, squeezing the tip on each long pull, but then he released his grip and simply pressed John’s cock hard against his belly. John was about to protest the loss when Ronon did some kind of undulation of his body that rolled his abdomen against the length of John’s cock over and over.

This time, John’s exhale was a nearly soundless whine.

“Like that?”

To show him just how much, John returned the favor. He wriggled his fingers into the barely-there space between their bodies, noting the dichotomy of his knuckles bumping over firm, smooth abs, while his palms skated down the softer, and hairier plane of his own belly. He teased Ronon’s cock with just his fingertips for a moment, huffing out a laugh into Ronon’s skin when it made Ronon whimper.

Teasing was fun and all, but he wanted to feel it; all of it. Maybe it made him an asshole, but he’d gotten his fair share of glimpses of Ronon’s cock – in post mission showers, during native rituals – and he’d always wanted to know how it would look and feel when it was full and hard. He wrapped his fingers around the length, marveling a bit at the girth, and it was so much hotter than the water against his skin.

“Fuck, Sheppard,” Ronon grumbled, breaking away from kissing John’s throat to find his mouth once again.

Mouth practically being fucked by Ronon’s tongue, John gave a short stroke and felt Ronon’s growl reverberate against his lips. He pulled back to nip Ronon’s chin and bite at his cheek. “Yeah, you like that?”

“Like your hand around my cock,” Ronon agreed, bumping his nose into John’s playfully and rubbing his stubbly jaw into John’s like a feline marking his territory. “Wanna feel something else around my cock.”

John didn’t think he’d ever been so tempted to turn over and beg. But one thought held that submission at bay. “So, uh. Don’t know about you, but foreplay in the water is fine and all, but the actual sex part…not so much.”

Ronon’s smirk was a little too knowing. “Gonna have to ask someday how you know that.” He pulled away from John though, putting space between them that left cooler eddies swirling around John’s skin.

“Hey,” John asked, as the fog of lust dissipated just a fraction and he could focus. “Is there a specific way we’ve gotta do this? I mean… I assume you need to, um… do me?”

Jesus, he could grab the guys dick but couldn’t say ‘fuck me’ to him?

Ronon nodded, though he looked just a bit hesitant. “Uh yeah. It’s kinda gotta be that way. Me, uh, doing you. That okay with you?”

John frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just, I heard that some earth guys don’t like to be fucked. Think it makes ‘em less of a man.”

Deciding he’d ask after Ronon’s earth-specific sex education later (he assumed marines but also wouldn’t put it past Rodney) John just slyly and a bit fey said, “C’mon, Ronon. You think I care what anyone thinks about me at this point?”

That made Ronon laugh, a burst of loud and genuine snickering.

“Get your ass out of the water, Sheppard.”

John stood, groaning just a little from aches he was already starting to feel in his joints, like they were lined with ground glass. He pushed that aside though, knowing that relief was on its way soon enough. Still, Ronon must’ve noticed.

“You doin’ okay, Sheppard? The Elders said you had about four hours, but…” he let that trail off, concerned.

“Hey, I’m fine, big guy,” John reassured him. “It’s just the normal aches and pains of me bein’ just a couple of years older than you.”

If Ronon could read the lie, he didn’t call John on it. “Want me to carry you out of the pool?” he asked with a lip-curling smirk.

“Try it and I’m gonna break that other vow for you,” John threatened.

Ronon just laughed and splashed his way out of the water, noisy and wet.

John followed, and by the time he got over to the spa side, Ronon was waiting with a large drying cloth. By unspoken agreement, they dried themselves off – though John knew he would’ve enjoyed wiping Ronon down - they had a goal here.

After he finished his perfunctory toweling, John surveyed the options and then laid belly down on the nearest wide bench and drew his knee up to one side. Above him, he heard Ronon grunt.

“Look good like that, Sheppard.”

John chuckled. “Enough sweet talking, big guy.”

“Mean it,” Ronon said, voice gruffer than normal. John felt fingertips trail down his spine and his skin juddered.

“I know,” John replied softly. Because he did. There was more going on here than two guys fucking just to save each other’s lives. Although he wasn’t _ever_ one to talk about his emotions, he felt like he owed it to Ronon to give him some kind of reassurance. “We’re back on Atlantis, maybe we’ll try this again in my quarters. Bet I’d look even better in my bed, in Lantea Three’s triple moonlight.”

They both ignored the hoarse thickness in Ronon’s, “Yeah, I bet you would.” Followed by a softer, “I’d like that.”

There was a moment where the atmosphere felt too heavy, too cloying, so John hurried to ask, “Uh, they got anything that looks like lube on those shelves?”

Ronon snickered but responded with an affirmative. “Yeah, got some massage oil.”

He probably shouldn’t be trusting alien substances at this point, but he was already dying, so he figured what the hell. “Well grab it and get over here.”

John learned that Ronon was way ahead of him when he felt the trickle of something cool dribble low on his spine and then over his ass. Ronon’s hands followed a few seconds later, and he spread the oil over the whole of John’s back. He spent long minutes working it into John’s muscles, kneading them and pushing with the heels of his hands from his shoulders down his spine and finally rolling knuckles deep into his lumbar region.

“You’d make a killing as a masseuse back home, you know,” John babbled, words slurring, pleasure drunk.

Ronon just grunted in amusement. A little more of the oil dripped on to John’s ass, and then Ronon’s hands were there, smoothing over them in sweeping, firm strokes. He edged the hands inward slowly, teasingly, until he’d slipped between John’s cheeks.

“You good with this, Sheppard?” Ronon asked, barely tracing over John’s hole with the pads of his thumbs.

It felt good, but wasn’t enough. “You asking if I’ve done this before, big guy? Not to worry. Been a long time with someone else, but I’m a modern Pegasus man. I’ve been to that hut on M60-322. I’ve got the souvenirs.”

Ronon’s laugh rumbled deep, like John could feel it in his bones. “I’ll remember that, Sheppard.” He took John at his word though, and pushed two fingers into John in a slow, stretching thrust.

John didn’t quite squirm against it and it didn’t quite hurt, but there was that familiar pinch. He rolled his shoulders back, breathing out through his nose. “Jesus,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “That’s two fingers, no way I’m gonna survive your dick.”

In response to that, Ronon pushed the fingers in deeper and then eased them back out. “I’ll make sure you do,” Ronon said. John could hear his grin.

More oil and a third finger followed, and he knew how to work them inside John, pushing slow and gliding right over John’s prostate, but slipping past too fast to really get him riled, but enough that he felt it zinging in his balls with each pump of Ronon’s hand.

“Okay,” he reached back, batting at Ronon’s arm. “Okay. That’s enough, Ronon. You really, really need to fuck me now.”

Funny how much easier it was to say that with Ronon’s fingers inside him, and his lips still tingling from Ronon’s biting kisses.

“That an order, Sheppard?”

“Ronon,” John replied with a groan. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

The fingers pulled out, but they were replaced by a blunt pressure only moments later.

John might’ve sworn, or might’ve just exhaled around a long, low moan, but some kind of noise escaped him when Ronon’s massive cock seemed to split him in two.

“You good, Sheppard?”

“Yeah,” John said weakly, then repeated it. “Yeah. Just feel fuckin’ incredible.”

Ronon grunted, and there was something pleased and a little abashed about the sound. He pushed in deeper still.

“Christ, you’re not in all the way yet?”

No way the poison the Elders had slipped him was gonna kill him; Ronon’s cock was gonna do all the work.

“Almost there,” Ronon said tightly, and true to his word, John felt him bottom out – hips pressing tight to John’s ass. “Too much?” he asked.

John snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh yeah?”

Shit, that sounded like a threat.

“Uh…” Too late to take it back though – not that he really wanted to – because Ronon was easing back out on a long, steady pull, and then he drove back in, fast and hard. It jolted John forward on the bench, and he let out an involuntary gasp.

Ronon hesitated yet again, "Okay?"

“C’mon, Ronon,” John urged. “Stop treating me like I’m McKay, I can take it. C’mon,” he barked out, voice crackling and throat raw. “Fuck me.”

Okay, maybe mentioning Rodney while Ronon’s cock was buried in his ass was a low blow, but it got the point across. Ronon started fucking in earnest.

The cloth covering the bench was soft, but it wrinkled beneath his abdomen and every one of Ronon’s wild and powerful thrusts shoved him roughly against it, rubbing too hard against his sensitive cock. Still, he didn’t want to stop; they both _needed_ this. He gripped the edges tighter, digging his nails in. “Yeah,” he cried out, “Oh god, yeah. Just like that.”

Ronon’s hands came up to curl over John’s shoulders and he held tight, using the hold to thrust harder, deeper. John’s babble trailed off, grunts and groans the only coherent sounds he could manage as Ronon pounded into him again and again.

“You close?”

John managed to shake his head. “Can’t like this always… s’okay. Suck my dick after.”

“Gonna,” Ronon started but the rest of whatever he’d meant to say trailed off into breathless gasping.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon.” John urged, “don’t wait for me.” And he reached one hand up to grab at Ronon’s wrist, nails digging in as Ronon’s final thrusts felt like they split him in half. Ronon roared when he came, goddamn roared, and John’s cock throbbed at the feel of being pumped so full.

It was probably fortunate that Ronon didn’t just sprawl weightlessly over John’s back – he wasn’t a small guy by any standards – but John was a little bit disappointed when Ronon finally eased back, pulling out carefully and then getting to his feet.

John managed to roll over, weary and clumsy, but at least he didn’t fall of the bench. He shifted his legs out of the way so Ronon could sit next to him.

Ronon did, but he wasn’t looking at John and instead stared out over the ever-rippling water.

“Hey, Chewie,” John barked out. When Ronon turned to look at him, his eyes were soft and slightly wary. “You better not be havin’ regrets.”

“Nah,” Ronon shook his head. But he still looked a little bit too careful when he asked, “You?”

John rolled his shoulders back. “My only regret is that my dick is still hard, but I think I’m too fucked out to bend you over this damn bench.”

The wolf returned, canine teeth baring in a truly devilish grin. “Could ride you, yanno,” Ronon offered.

And fucking hell, John wanted that. But he hadn’t been lying. Between whatever was in that wine cocktail, and his own damn age and regular aches and pains, Ronon had fucked him hard. Maybe a bit too hard. Not that he’d admit it.

He smirked. “Raincheck on that, maybe?”

Ronon nodded. “Oh yeah, think you said you wanted me to suck your dick.”

Balls tightening at the mere suggestion, John knew he probably nodded a bit dumbly when he replied, “Wouldn’t say no to that.”

He was thinking of suggesting maybe they try it in the pool, but before he could do more than prop himself up on his elbows, Ronon was already bent over his lap. His damp dreads trailed over John’s chest and belly and thighs; the only warning he got before his cock was engulfed in the heat of Ronon’s mouth. He sucked and swallowed rhythmically around John’s cockhead and somehow also manage waggle his tongue against the vein on the bottom at the same time. It was, by far, the best head John had ever gotten.

“Oh fuck, Ronon,” John, threw his arm over his eyes and mock-complained. “How the fuck are you still so good at this when you’ve been celibate for like ten years?” That might’ve been an exaggeration - John was too sex-addled to really count - but it was close enough.

He hadn’t quite meant the question, had babbled it more rhetorically than anything, but Ronon pulled off anyway, leaving his broad hand slowly stroking in place of his mouth. “Couldn’t fuck or get fucked, but nothing ever said I couldn’t give head. Got pretty damn good at that.”

John chuckled weakly – since most of his focus and sensations were coalescing in the pit of his belly and his balls – but managed to mutter, “Yeah you did, big guy.” He settled back, waiting for those amazing sensations to start up again, but Ronon moved away from him instead.

“Uh, hey.” John flung his arm to the side and looked up. To his relief, Ronon hadn’t like… fallen over or anything, but he was over by the shelves pulling out stacks of towels. “Ronon, uh…” he waved a hand at his dick just waving around in the breeze.

“Got an idea,” was all that Ronon said.

John’s eyes narrowed. “’m I gonna like this idea?”

Ronon flashed the feral smirk at him. “Pretty sure,” he said all cocky bravado.

What the hell, John thought. Ronon hadn’t steered him wrong yet. Although… he had really been enjoying getting his dick sucked.

Ronon came back over to the bench and started tossing towels down on the tile next to it. Before John could ask, Ronon held a hand out to him.  John took it and let himself be hauled up to his feet.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, curious and maybe a bit afraid.

“Know your knee ain’t great. Think you can kneel on these,” he gestured to the ridiculously thick cushioning provided by pretty much every single one of the two-dozen towels that had been stacked on the shelves.

“I think I can manage,” John replied, maybe a bit smarmy. Damn kids… judging him for his bad knee.

He still knelt gingerly, just in case – ignoring whatever knowing expression might be on Ronon’s face – and found that the towels provided ample padding. “Okay,” he said, “I’m kneeling. Now what?”

“Now, I want you to bend over the bench.” He placed some towels where Sheppard had been a few moments before, and then kind of just pushed John until he was resting down on his elbows. The height of the low bench meant that his ass was in the air.

“Uh, Ronon. I told you I can’t usually come when I’m being fucked.”

“Not planning on fucking you,” Ronon said. He disappeared from John’s view.

“Then what are yo…  Oh!”

Ronon’s tongue was up his ass. Just like that, no warning. Just hot, wet, pointy muscle probing right at John’s asshole.

“FUCK!”

It was a good curse. The best kind of curse. The kind of curse that came when your best buddy has his fucking prehensile tongue halfway up your ass, licking out his own damn come, while he reached around and milked your fucking cock with his goddamn gorilla sized hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” John couldn’t stop the litany pouring out of his mouth like some kind of blasphemous chant.

“Mhh-hmmm,” Ronon hummed, right into John’s hole, and his damn beard scruffed against John’s taint. And goddammit, he wanted to seem mature and not blow his load like a goddamn teenager, but the Ronon, tongue, ass, beard and hand-job combo was lethal.

“Awww, fuck,” he said again, and this time less than a minute later his balls drew up and his ass clenched around Ronon’s tongue and he shot himself all over Ronon’s fingers, messy and sticky and hot.

“Fuck,” he panted, falling forward onto his chest. He was dizzy, and everything was grey around the edges and he couldn’t quite get his breath.

Had he ever come so hard?

John tried to shake his head to clear it. He wanted to tell Ronon that; that Ronon had made him come harder than he ever had in his life.

But… he couldn’t focus because… because Ronon was still licking and sucking at his rim, and his hand stroked loosely over John’s spent cock and his other hand – or at least a finger or two – were pushing into John’s puffy hole and beelining straight for his prostate.

“I can’t,” he tried to say. He was on the wrong side of forty to recover so quick. There was no way in hell it was happening.

Apparently though, if he couldn’t get the words out, Ronon didn’t know that was the case, because he seemed pretty damn determined to make John hard again. Not only to make him hard, but to make him come a second time.

Someday he’d have to explain refractory periods in men of the… older persuasion.

“Ronon, buddy,” John croaked, “I wanna. I wanna so bad. But… I can’t, buddy.”

Ronon pulled away from John’s ass long enough to say, “No? Then what’s this?” His fingers squeezed around John’s cock.

John’s thickening cock.

Holy shit.

“Never mind,” John muttered weakly and flipped a hand against the bench. “Carry on.”

He did, working John so expertly that his hardon felt like it was being slowly and gently encouraged, like a flower blooming to the sun (or some other, more apt metaphor, John was too fucked out to think of one). 

And once he’d gotten John’s cock back to full firm mast, Ronon eased him up from the bench and down to the tiles, rolled him over on the bed of towels, and then straddled him. John got to watch as he reached behind himself with two well-slicked fingers and shoved them in his own ass roughly. And far too early, John was sure, Ronon rolled his body down onto John’s cock.

No surprise, Ronon was rock hard again. John decided he wasn’t going to look a pornographic gift horse in the mouth, and he crossed his arms behind his head and laid back, head tilted so he could enjoy the show.

It was a hell of a show. Ronon rode his cock just like he’d fucked John: fast and rough and merciless. He stripped his own cock, and his eyes were nearly rolled back. John stared covetously at the long line of his throat when he swallowed, and the flare of his nostrils as he breathed, and the play of muscles in his trembling belly.

John wanted to touch.

Then he remembered there was nothing stopping him from touching, so he reached out with one hand and let his fingertips trip down Ronon’s ribs and over his ridiculous abs.

Ronon let out another of those primal, grunting shouts and he came. His cock spurted in high arcs, landing with striping spatters over John’s chest and belly. It was that, and the clench of Ronon’s body around John’s cock – not to mention just the sight of him coming undone – that sent John over the edge. He jerked his hips up, pumping up into Ronon’s body again and again until every last drop was milked out of him.

This time, after John had collapsed back to the bed of towels, wrung damper than one of them, Ronon dropped weakly at his side, taking up a similar sprawling position, arms and legs akimbo.

Ronon was panting heavily this time. He was also flush and beaming, his eyes and grin both bright.

“Yeah, yeah,” John slapped a weak hand at him. “You’re a sex god.”

Ronon chuckled.

Neither of them acknowledged when Ronon caught up John’s flung hand, tangling their fingers between them, and left them like that in a tight knot between their bodies.

“So,” John began some time later. He hadn’t quite been dozing. Maybe basking was more the right word. “Whaddya say? Maybe another soak in the tub, clean ourselves off, and then go get Teyla and get the fuck off this planet? Maybe send a nuke through after we get back?” He may have been jesting on the latter.

Maybe.

“Whatever you say, Sheppard,” Ronon replied and even glancing sideward John could see his shit-eating grin. “You’re the boss. You give the orders around here.”


End file.
